Second Chances
by Calex
Summary: He could have been the one, the saviour. He could have been the hero, but he never thought that mantle would suit him as much as it did Harry. Besides, there were other more interesting things that could happen, and everyone needed a second chance.


Title: Second Chances

Author: Calex

Rating: PG- 13 for swearing

Disclaimer: HP world belongs to Rowling. No profit was intended on being made, no copyright infringement intended.

Notes: Secret Santa fic for on Lumos. Hope this was what you were looking for, and that you enjoyed it. You wanted some Neville, and I complied, hope you don't mind/like the pairing, though it's probably not what you had in mind. grin Some HBP spoilers ahead.

Dumbledore was dead.

Dumbledore was… dead.

He waited until he cleared the burial area, waited until his feet took him to the greenhouses before his knees failed him and he fell to the ground. His eyes were itchy, dry. Almost painfully dry. He would have cried from that if he could, but he figured since he couldn't cry from the fact that the greatest man alive was now very much _not_ alive, then he couldn't cry from something so trivial as the act of not being able to cry… or the pain that brought. Hands that were clenched into trembling fists at his sides fell to the ground, palms flattened to feel the cool tickle of grass against his skin. Life, under his hands, life where today saw the end of one life. His fingers raked back into a fist on the ground, grabbing fistfuls of grass. Tearing some free from the soil. His head drooped, and his body started to tremble once again, just tremble and he couldn't help it, couldn't do anything about it. The sob that wouldn't come was now stuck in his throat, making him choke, unable to breathe.

It started to rain.

Fitting tribute, for the very heavens to cry out for the loss of a great man. He turned his pale, ashen face heavenward, blinking blindly as rainwater fell in a mockery of tears down his cheeks. His hair was plastered to his skull, water clogged in his dark, sombre robes and stuck to his now spiked lashes. Still, despite all that water, his eyes were still painfully dry. He felt that sob crawl out of his throat, digging tooth and nail to make its painful ascent up, up, upwards until he couldn't stand it anymore, until he closed his eyes tightly against it, opened his mouth…. And _screamed_. He screamed out his pain, his fear, the feeling of injustice to deities that at the moment he was quite sure wasn't listening to him, or any other person out there. Because if they did, this wouldn't happen. This _wouldn't_ happen. Dumbledore would still be alive. He would. He would…_right_?

The tears came, then, cascading down his cheeks and mixing with the rain so that they were hardly discernible if not for the heaving of his chest, his shaking shoulders. He had lost the only person who had ever believed in him, he had lost his home, his comfort. He had lost the only thing that gave him faith in the dark times that would lie ahead. Whatever they might say, whatever hope the wizarding world pinned on Harry…he couldn't find it in himself to have as much hope and faith that he'd had when he knew Dumbledore was behind his friend. Harry might be strong, might be powerful. He might be brave… but he was still a teenaged boy in an old man's fight. A pawn used as a means to an end… their way. He himself knew just how much of that had relied on chance, so no. He didn't have as much faith in Harry Potter as he had once had. After what Dumbledore had told him, after what had been revealed to him by Dumbledore himself over the prophecy…

Neville shuddered. So close. It could have been him. How different was he from Harry Potter, really? Born in the same year, same month to equally as heroic parents. Harry's died trying to protect him, his still alive but suffering from the _crucios_ that they had been tortured with because they were protecting wizard-kind. Muggle-kind. All human kind, really. His brave, wonderful parents. Neville's eyes screwed shut, trying to stop the tears that before he had longed for. They suffered for him, for everyone and in payment most didn't even know of their existence. Most thought he was simply orphaned. Well, almost true in any case, his parents were better off dead. His face dropped to the ground, then, and he was bent in a position almost subservient as he screamed out against soil, against grass. He wanted to curse every deity under the sun.

He wished that he could be brave, brave as his parents were brave, brave as the boy he had almost been was brave. He wished he was as brave as Harry. Neville knew that was never going to happen. So he cried into the earth and felt as his tears mingled with the rain, knew his face would be stained by the mud created from the soil he had revealed. He cried and didn't stop crying, even when he felt the soft touch on his back, felt the other person sink to their knees beside him and allowed himself to be pulled into a soft lap. Long fingers tangled in his hair, brushed soothing strokes on his scalp. There were no murmurs of false comfort but a sympathetic, empathetic silence that was born from shared grief and understanding. He cried his tears into rain sodden cotton instead, saw the black robes as his fists clenched in material instead. The hands moved to his back, now, still in those soothing strokes.

His tears finally dried, his shaking body finally stilled but he still laid there with his cheek pressed against damp cotton and now still hands rested on his back. He sniffed, then slowly straightened himself, sat on his heels and looked at his companion, looked at the paler than usual skin that made freckles stand out, looked at the rain spiked lashes and the painfully dry eyes as she stared straight ahead. It was his hands, now, that brushed back strands of red hair that clung to a smooth cheek, his hands that reached down to grip slim, pale ones that were as icy as death. It was a while before she spoke and when she did, her tone was leaden and her gaze never met his but stared straight ahead into pure nothingness, unseeing.

"He broke up with me."

"Ginny…"

"I knew he was going to do it." She turned to meet his gaze, now. Her brown eyes were bright with unshed tears, anger, a challenge for him to deny what she just said. To comfort her. He did neither but continued to hold her hand. She seemed to collapse into herself at that and straight, proud shoulders drooped. Her voice was quiet and small, almost like a child. "Why did he do it, Nev? When I love him so much? When I thought he loved me?" She stared at their joined hands as his shoulder lifted helplessly into a shrug. "I care for him so much and he's shoving me away from his life. He'd accept Ron and Hermione's help, but not mine?" She lifted her eyes to him again. "I could take it if he pushed them away, too, but he just… he just pushed _me_ away. Am I that worthless to him? To everyone?"

"Oh, Ginny," he murmured and his grip on her hand tightened as tears started to well up in her eyes. He then pulled her into a hug, and she turned her head into his neck, fingers gripping his robes.

"I love him, Neville. I never stopped loving him." She cried then, wetting his already damp skin with her salty tears. "So many years of wishing that he'd even _look_ at me like I'm a girl and having heaven handed out to me for a few weeks…" she laughed bitterly. "Whoever said 'it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all' should be killed."

"I'm pretty sure they're dead, anyway." She let out a startled laugh, and shook her head. Her tears didn't dry up and he didn't say anything to try and make her feel better, just let her use him as a means for her to let out her grief. Her whole body was shaking from the force of her sobs and Neville let her cling to him as his hands ran over her back, soothed the tremors under his palms. He had never told her, though he suspected she knew, that he had loved her, once. That once he had seen red hair and freckles and had fallen stupidly, recklessly in love despite the fact that he had seen the adoration and hero worship in her eyes when she had looked at Harry. Or perhaps because of it, because he was fairly sure that his expression matched hers almost perfectly. Finally, though, even her tears dried out but like him, she didn't move from her position but instead turned her face so that her cheek rested on his shoulder.

"What are we going to do, Nev?" she asked, quietly. "Now that Dumbledore's de- gone, and Hogwarts is closing? Are they going to send us to another school?"

"I expect not," he sighed. "The war's almost here, Gin. Almost on us. I expect a few of us will fight."

"A few?" she laughed bitterly again. "With the group that we have in our year? I expect that more than a few will be fighting."

"Most definitely Harry, eh?"

"Yes."

They both fell into silence at that thought, and Ginny's fingers convulsed to grip his robes tighter. His did likewise on hers as he stared at the ground, as his eyes traced out the intricate and mysterious patterns that the grass made. Then he pulled away slightly so that he could look into her eyes.

"Are you going to fight, Gin?" She looked surprised, then wry.

"Yes, I expect I will. Funny, isn't it?" she sighed and her tone was filled with irony. "The very thing he wanted to save me from and I'll rush headlong into it because it's not in my nature to hide."

"I wish you wouldn't, Gin."

"Will you hide, Neville?" she shot back. "Are you going to stand by and see our world crumble through the ground, see people we know _die_ and not do a blessed thing about it?" He closed his eyes and pulled completely away from her. Stood and walked a few paces to give them distance, left her staring up at him defiantly from the ground. His fists clenched at his sides.

"No. I don't suppose I could." He said, lowly. "But I suppose that's just my way of proving to the world that I'm not incompetent rather than any heroic or noble notion."

"Oh, Nev." He heard the damp rustle of her robes as she stood up, then felt her snake her arms around him and rest her cheek against his back. "People fight for different reasons and despite what they say, very few of those reasons are selfless. I expect even Harry's reasons are selfish."

"Harry? Saint of the wizarding world?" Neville laughed and this time it was he who sounded bitter. "Of course his reasons will be pure as untouched snow and selfless. He is god to us mere mortals."

"He's a teenaged boy," Ginny said, softly. "With a great deal of insecurity, doubt, and anger. Revenge isn't the most selfless of reasons."

"Revenge?"

"You-know-who _did_ kill his parents."

"Voldemort," Neville said, automatically. Drilled into him by both Harry and Dumbledore. "Fear of the name – "

"Yes, yes." Ginny waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "I _know_ all that. _Who_ dated the patron saint of war against evil Death Eaters? I do believe that was me."

"Sorry." He sounded sheepish. "I think Harry rubs off on you." Ginny gave him a wry smile, and the two lapsed into uncomfortable silence. They both didn't look at the other, and Neville fidgeted a little before taking a deep breath and turning back to her. "Look –"

" – And I'm _not_ going to let that happen!"

The two of them jumped at the shrill and familiar female tones. Ginny and Neville shot each other wide eyed looks and then turned in the direction where the noise originated from. Gesturing for him to keep silent, Ginny started walking softly towards a clump of trees and, sighing, Neville followed close behind, resigned. They peered around a tree and both jaws dropped at the sight of Pansy Parkinson pacing agitatedly while Blaise Zabini lounged in an almost pose against a tree. Parkinson's hands were clenched into fists and her short cap of dark hair was unruffled and slicked back on her head, damp with rain.

"Pansy – " Zabini began, sounding almost bored but Parkinson whirled on him, her eyes blazing.

"Don't you _dare_, Blaise." She hissed. "Both you and I know that Draco wouldn't have gone unless something was truly the matter."

"He's a little shit, Pansy."

"_He's your best friend_!" she shrieked and both Ginny and Neville flinched at the pitch and the almost hysterical tone of her voice. Blaise's eyes sharpened.

"He went against our_ pact_, Pans," Blaise said, coldly. "He deflected. He failed. He slunk away with his little pedigree tail between his legs to the skirts of Mama Voldemort. Forgive me if I'm a little unsympathetic." The two Gryffindors watched wide eyed as Pansy's eyes filled with tears.

"He wouldn't have done it without a reason," she said, hoarsely. "I've known him since we were in diapers, Blaise. I know what Draco's like. _You_ know what Draco's like. He wouldn't have… he _wouldn't_. Not without a reason. He's a prick, sure, but he just _wouldn't_."

"We don't know people as well as we think we do," Blaise said, quietly. "You know this, Pansy. We should never have taken anything at face value. We can't afford to hang about like this. We have to go. For all we know Draco might be selling our names to Voldemort."

"He wouldn't, Blaise."

"Stop it!" Neville and Ginny jumped at his roar. He stalked over towards Pansy and grabbed her shoulders, then started to shake her roughly. "Stop it. Stop thinking about him. He _went_, Pansy. He did what Voldemort wanted him to do. He might've failed to kill Potter, but he killed Dumbledore. He _killed_. I might be amoral, but even _I_ wouldn't do something like that."

"He couldn't have…" Pansy shoved at Blaise. "You stupid, idiotic _male!_" She snapped. "_Think_ about it. How could _Draco_ have killed _Dumbledore_? The man's the greatest wizard alive!"

"He had Lucius Malfoy as a teacher."

At the cold pronouncement, Pansy turned silent. But then she shook her head, almost vigorously. "I can't agree with you."

"Agree what you like," he shook his head. "But we don't have time for this. We have to run, Pans. You and me. We have to disappear. If we don't, he'll kill us."

"If he wanted to," Pansy's tone was quiet. "He could find us even if we were at the ends of the earth."

"I'm not about to give up."

"Then why are you giving up on Draco?"

"Because he's already on the other side!" Blaise started pacing, now, eyes furious. "Because he's on the side of Voldemort and once you join you're never able to leave. Look at Snape! Look how well _that_ turned out. Every Death Eater that's _ever_ tried to leave has been killed. Snape's even gone fucking back to be Voldemort's man. _He'll never be able to escape_."

"But he's Draco."

Blaise stopped pacing and looked at her. True compassion shined in his eyes, and a little bit of his own pain. He went to her, and pulled her in a hug, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"I loved him, too."

"I know." She burrowed her face into his chest and her body started shaking, her shoulders moving with her sobs. "Oh, Blaise, what's going to happen to him? To _us_?"

"I don't know," Blaise said, quietly. "I just don't know. But I _do_ know that I don't want to hang about , looking over my bloody shoulder all of the fucking time and wondering when I was going to die. Do you?" She shoved at his chest, but it was without any real passion. Her face was drawn and her eyes tired.

"Fuck you, Blaise. Fuck you."

"Been there, done that. Besides, aren't you taken with that little Longbottom fellow?" he tsked sarcastically. "My, my what fickle creatures are women. What do you think lover boy would say if he knew you had designs on my body as well as his?"

"WHAT!"

The sudden silence after the screeched exclamations was loud with tension, shock and utter stillness. Then Blaise and Pansy whipped out their wands with a speed that would have shocked the two Gryffindors had they not been expecting it. Ginny and Neville walked out of the clearing, figuring they were already caught, wands pointing directly at the two Slytherins. When they spotted Ginny and Neville, shock crossed their faces, then Blaise's showed utter disgust, before he tucked his wand back into his sleeve.

"Great. Caught by a couple of nancy Gryffindorks. Have we completely ruined your all-Slytherins-are-evil outlook on life? Have we managed to disillusion you? Oh, terribly sorry, you gave us quite the shock _when you were eavesdropping_."

"Hey!" Ginny stepped up close to him, eyes blazing with anger. "Don't you bloody dare say that we were doing something so terribly wrong when _we_ were the ones who were here first and you two were bloody well shouting your fucking problems loud enough for the whole fucking castle to hear!"

"Well, meow, kitten has claws. Are you attempting to rip into me, little girl? Because if you are, I should give you warning and tell you that my hide is thicker than it seems."

"Oh I'm sure it's thick alright," Ginny snorted, stabbing him in the chest with her finger, standing close enough to him that his robes were brushing against hers. "It's probably almost as thick as your big, fat head!"

"Why you – "

"They'll be at this a little while, yet." Pansy whispered to him. Neville almost jumped a foot at her sudden appearance at his shoulder, then blushed darkly as he saw her.

"I, uh, yes. I, um, think – "

Pansy grinned a little at him, and shook her head, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "Gryffindorks" under her breath, although sounding suspiciously amused. She hooked her arm through his and dragged him none-too-subtly away from the arguing pair.

"I've noticed Weasley the girl has quite the admirable temper with her. Very that which comes with all that Weasley hair of hers. Attractive. Do you know, I've always wanted to be a redhead? Anyway, noticed she has quite the way with cutting words and insults about her. Blaise is rather like that, too. And I know that he quite enjoys verbally sparring with her, ever since the Slug Club. Besides, Blaise thinks I don't know, but he quite fancies little Cin rotten."

"Cin?"

"Cin, Gin. Cin like cinnamon. Like her eyes. Blaise got drunk during one of the Slytherin parties and waxed poetic about Cin's eyes and hair and "alabaster skin"." There was laughter in Pansy's voice and Neville, entranced, found himself following her like an obedient puppy as they walked around the grounds and further away from the greenhouses. But also, he noted, further away from the castle. Surprisingly, he didn't care too much. He didn't really feel like going back into Dumbledore's domain, at the moment, and suddenly, with Pansy, he found someone that… intrigued him.

She was quite different than what he thought, and what she presented herself to be, and after the revelation that she and Blaise wished to be away from Voldemort's influence… well. That was the icing on the cake, now, wasn't it? And the idea of Blaise Zabini, manwhore extraordinaire and colder than ice fancying Gin was just too strange to contemplate… yet it made sense, now that Pansy had pointed it out to him. He remembered their spats during Slug Club outings, after all, he was part of it, though he never felt that comfortable with the idea of Professor Slughorn putting him in the same category as all those other members. He just wasn't Slug Club material. But first…

"Slytherin parties?"

"Yes. Every Friday down in the dungeons. Most of the houses are invited. Didn't you know?" Then she stopped short, shook her head and looked ironic. "Of course you wouldn't have. Far too innocent for my own good, you are. Sweet, kind Neville, why would you ever have known of what goes on in the den of debauchery that is the Slytherin dungeons?"

"I'm not as sweet as people might think," he said softly, looking down at the ground. "Not as innocent and naïve, either."

"Of course you are." He was sure she didn't mean to sound patronizing and condescending, but he found himself irritated nonetheless. He somehow found in himself a great need to change her view of him. He wanted her to like him without being ashamed of it… and that thought managed to scare him not just a little. So he stopped short, and whirled to face her. Facing him with some surprise, Neville saw her start to form a question before he pushed all that Gryffindor courage he never knew he possessed… and kissed her.

He was so focused on not making a fool out of himself that he didn't quite realize that she was kissing him back, or that she was quite the kisser herself. Her moan penetrated his concentration, the nails digging into his arms pulled him further into himself. He was about to pull away, embarrassed, when her hands snaked behind his head to clutch fistfuls of his hair and pulled him closer. The action surprised him into opening his mouth… and she, ever the Slytherin, took full advantage of that. Neville let out a sound of surprised enjoyment as he felt her tongue touch his, exploring his mouth and then twining with his.

He found he liked the way she tasted, fresh and light as mint, intoxicating like the rare magical roses that Professor Sprout grew in her personal greenhouse.

She tasted like dark chocolates and mint and something unexplainable but so inexplicably _Pansy_ that Neville just let himself go, for one second, just let himself be pulled in to the kiss that he had so recklessly initiated, not knowing what he was getting into. Because now he was pretty sure, having had a taste of her, that the new spine he had been growing, that ingrained and hidden stubbornness of his character would _not_ allow for him to make so stupid a mistake as letting Pansy Parkinson get away from him.

Both were breathless when they finally pulled away, and Pansy's face was flushed and her lips looking thoroughly kissed. She looked at him like he was something so infinitely wonderful that he started flushing with embarrassment and pleasure. She looked at him like he was something surprisingly worthwhile, like he was _something_. She looked at him like he was important, and _that_ he had never felt in his life. She made him feel like he belonged.

"Well," she said, when she got her breath back. "That was certainly, uh, enlightening."

"Quite," he cleared his throat, blushing a little at the delight and amusement in her eyes. "I, uh, I… Right."

"Yes."

They stood around awkwardly, neither knowing what to do and the wind picked up, making both of them shiver, both soaking wet. Then she grinned, lifting a hand up to cup his cheek, thumb running across his wet cheekbone.

"You're something else, Neville Longbottom," she said, softly. "I think that when my heart decided that you were someone worth noticing was probably the best decision it had ever made. I think that no matter what happens with Blaise and I, and with Draco, what you mean to me will do me a world of good that I never had the privilege of having, before. My Slytherin nature rebels at the idea of my wanting, let alone needing some good, but my reason, logic and heart tell me that you are all too perfect for someone as flawed, imperfect and damaged as me."

"You're not damaged, Pansy," he said through the lump that had formed in his throat. "Just a little cracked. You've never looked more perfect to me."

"All your doing," she grinned, then. A full grin, not a haughty, condescending smile or even a wicked smirk. A full, proper, genuine grin. "You make me worthwhile."

"If there's anything that I will be doing," he said, after a pause. "It will be showing you what a complete and utter load of _bollocks_ you just spouted. You make yourself worthwhile for being who you are."

"And I notice that you hadn't realized that before."

"I've never been accused of being particular bright or quick on the uptake."

"I think people who think that you are slow witted are foolish."

"Well isn't this sweet and wonderful," Blaise's droll voice cut through their staring match, making Neville jump and Pansy to look irritated. "I think I'm about to throw up."

"Shut it, Blaise." Ginny's eyes were misty as she looked at her best friend and the girl that before she had always detested. She didn't even notice that she had called him by his first name, didn't notice as he turned to stare at her in stupefaction with something quite unreadable, but soft, in his eyes. At Neville's slightly embarrassed look, Ginny cleared her throat.

"We were wondering where you two had run off to. I was worried you'd killed the other off, or something nearly as dramatic."

"I'd wondered if the same could be said about you," Neville shot back, lying through his teeth. Truth be told, his mind was very much taken by the girl at his side and he had not spared a thought to his friend for quite some time. Ginny shot him a look that told him very well that she knew what he had been thinking. He flushed.

"Yes, well, Zabini and I had decided to call it quits. I think he realized that he was not quite winning with me, and therefore had decided to salvage whatever false pride he thought he had."

"And there she goes again," Blaise sighed. "Just when things were getting good and peaceful, she ruins it."

"Can't ruddy well help it if you bring out the worst in me," she shot back. Blaise just shot her a wicked smirk.

"Rather thought it was your best side, myself."

"Oh, puke," Pansy drawled. "You two are being cute. What did you do, Blaise, try to like her throat from the inside? My, my, but you two got cosy quite fast." Before Blaise could retort, Ginny was in there, eyebrow raised in challenge.

"What, like you were with Neville?"

There was quiet…then a reluctant laugh bubbled out of Pansy's throat. She shot a slight smile at the diminutive redhead.

"Touché, little weasel. We'll call that a draw." Ginny just nodded her consent. Subconsciously, the four fell into step together, Neville and Pansy standing side by side with Blaise and Ginny next to each other. They started walking towards the castle, before Ginny broached the topic, looking up at the clearing sky.

"You know, we'll be glad to help… if you need anything."

"What?" Blaise looked at the redhead, eyebrow raised. She flushed, but shrugged, moving determinedly.

"Harry was determined to "save" me from the war, but _I_ know that isn't going to happen, ad does everyone else but him, Mum, Percy and Ron. The others all know I'm not one to stand aside and let other people fight for my and my family's safety, the safety of all of us, while I sit on the sidelines and fret for those who are fighting. I am not one to sit on my arse, twiddling my thumbs. I'm rather set to fight, actually."

"So you're going to help us." Irony was heavy in Blaise's tone and Ginny shrugged uneasily.

"I'm not about to let _anyone_ just fall into Voldemort's clutches for having the good sense not to want hell on earth and a wider and more diverse society. I don't care what your motives are, at this point, but at the moment just the thought of taking away two of Tom's possible recruits is enough for me."

"Vindictive, are we?" Pansy's eyebrow raised. Ginny's face was hard.

"Wouldn't you be, if what happened to me in my first year happened to you?" Their silence seemed to confirm Ginny's thoughts, and she nodded determinedly. "Dumbledore might be gone, but the Order of the Phoenix is still going on. The war is still going on. I refuse to believe that Dumbledore had no plan of what would happen were he to die. He's too meticulous for that, though few would realize it. I'm sure he has some backup for those who turned away."

"And if he doesn't?" It was Blaise who voiced it, tone quiet, intense. Ginny stopped, and all of them stopped. She turned to Blaise, touched his arms lightly, then Pansy's. Her eyes met Neville's and the two of them nodded in understanding, eyes hard. It was he who took a deep breath and answered.

"Then we find some way to help. Somehow, we _will_, we won't let anything happen to the two of you, not without a fight."

"Brave words, Longbottom," Blaise's voice was still quiet. "Maybe you belong in Gryffindor after all." Neville smiled briefly, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"I try." Ginny took a deep breath, then nodded.

"That's set, then. We'll help you. All of you."

"What's in it for you?" Pansy asked, her voice soft, question addressed to Ginny though her eyes locked on Neville's. He knew she was addressing the question equally to him as well.

"I told you, revenge. And maybe a bit of it is due to the fact that it's the right thing to do. Stupid honour, you might say."

"That honour might save our lives," Blaise smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. His eyes were solemn. He took her hand and kissed her fingertips, just lightly, and she didn't pull away, her hand lingering in his for a moment too long before she pulled away. Then Blaise turned to look at Neville. "And you?"

He was silent for a long time, face serious. Then he lifted up his head and looked straight at Pansy, a small smile forming on his face.

"A chance."


End file.
